That Sort
by MizzMarvel
Summary: The seemingly unimportant little things that we remember, the things we try to do when we've been drinking, and what happens when we mix the two...


Disclaimer - I own neither Aziraphale nor Crowley, unfortunately. But I'm sure I'd have to fight at least a few dozen fangirls for them anyway, so maybe it's better they're Terry and Neil's.  
  
"That Sort"  
  
The two sat drinking in a tavern, long ago by a human's standards. The wine wasn't perfected as it can be these days, but it was strong and thick and good. Crowley leaned across the table and nodded vaguely at the other side of the room.  
  
"That girl, the one with the reddish hair. I just gave her the idea to cast her eye on that boy there."  
  
Aziraphale turned to look; indeed, a pretty young woman was gazing intently at a man sitting alone nearby.  
  
"She has a sweetheart," Crowley continued, sipping his drink. "And here she is, wantonly lusting after a stranger. She's already ours."  
  
Aziraphale glared at him disapprovingly.  
  
"Really now, Crowley, that wasn't very nice, was it? It's one thing to tempt people into sin, but it's quite another to ruin her love."  
  
The demon stared at him blankly.  
  
"Love? How does this have anything to do with a loss of love?"  
  
"You said she has a sweetheart."  
  
"Oh, THAT. She doesn't love him, couldn't possibly. All I did was get her to turn her pretty little head; if she'd really given a damn about her boy, she wouldn't have paid anymore attention than that."  
  
He paused and took another sip of wine.  
  
"THAT sort of temptation doesn't have much effect when true love in involved."  
  
~*~  
  
Another time, another place, another bottle of wine. Another world, one could say, if anyone other than just a few humans knew it had ended a few months ago. And you do know, so you can, and you will.  
  
By now, wines have particular flavors and scents, distinct to the regions they come from, and have words like "floral" and "fruity" to describe them. It's interesting to compare them at first, but soon enough alcohol is consumed that it's much easier and more fun to simply drink, letting the natural effects flood his mortal system. Crowley thinks the same, apparently, and soon there's a silly grin on his face, sunglasses sliding haphazardly down his nose.  
  
"Naw," he drawls with a short laugh. " 's ours."  
  
"What...what're you talking 'bout?" Aziraphale cries in disbelief. "He gave joy to m - mill - lots of little kids. 's a good one."  
  
Crowley shakes his head.  
  
"Was roundabout." He pauses. " 's that a word?"  
  
The angel nods.  
  
"Good. Anyways, roundabout. Seemed good, 'til the mitch - merkt - 'til he started sellin' out. Greed. Y'know. One o' ourssssss."  
  
"Noooo," the other says softly, and finds he can't devise any better argument. So he repeats it. "Noooo."  
  
"Not dead yet anyway," Crowley goes on, and scoots his chair closer. "Frozen, I hear."  
  
"Frozen?! Isn't he cold?"  
  
"Maybe." His eyes dart at the angel from behind his glasses. "Happens that way a lot, y'know."  
  
"Getting frozen?"  
  
"No! Being roundabout."  
  
Suddenly, he's sitting right next to his companion, their knees touching.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Yeah. Start out seemin' good, so they follow through."  
  
He's absently tracing the back of Aziraphale's hand with his index finger. AJC, AJC, AJC. Over and over and over again.  
  
"Seems like a win-win situation. So they take the bait. They bite."  
  
He tugs on the angel's hand, pulling their faces close.  
  
"And then I do."  
  
Lips together, soft, but the kiss is hard, fierce, encompassing. Aziraphale rips himself away, eyes wide as saucers.  
  
"What are you DOING?!" he cries, the alcohol instantly gone from his body.  
  
"Tryin' to TEMPT you," Crowley sighs, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. He pulls the angel close and kisses him again, this time adding a hint of forked tongue.  
  
Aziraphale pushes away, gasping.  
  
"Tempt me into WHAT?!" he asks incredulously.  
  
The demon stares back, eyes completely visible now. He reaches to take his glasses off.  
  
"Lust, of course. What else?"  
  
His calm unsettles the angel even further, and he pulls away roughly, shaking.  
  
"You can't tempt me into that!" he squeaks, voice getting higher with distress. "There's no point even trying!"  
  
Crowley snorts, smirking.  
  
"Sure there is. Angels can be led 'stray. Can fall. You KNOW."  
  
"N-no!" Aziraphale stutters. "I didn't mean that. I - true - the girl!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"The girl in the - the tavern. Don't you remember?"  
  
"Been in lots. Lots with you, even."  
  
Tears hover in his eyes, but refuse to fall.  
  
"You said...you said..." The angel heaves a shuddering, wretched sigh. "Crowley, as long as you're around, that sort of temptation won't have much effect on me."  
  
Crowley's eyes widen with sudden clarity.  
  
"Aziraphale!" he cries, jumping to his feet, but the angel is already gone. 


End file.
